Letters to Horrie

By Mitzi Broome McKinney

These letters/essays were written by Mitzi Broome McKinney, and posthumously compiled (and very minimally edited) by her daughter, Rebekah McKinney-Reese. They are stories about Mitzis childhood in West Texas on the ranch near Broome, Texas, with memories about her family and friends. The stories are insightful, poignant, and a window into the mind and spirit of a woman nearing the end of her liferemembering good times, bad times, lessons learned, and all the Life in between. Mitzi began writing these Letters to Horrie as shared remembrances with her cousin, Horace Kelton, when she was first exploring the wonderful new world of e-mail. She wrote other essays/stories as well, which are also included. Writing provided a creative outlet when Mitzis physical limitations prohibited her from working with her beloved metal, and a vehicle for writing down memories that would have been lost had she not committed them to the written word. Her family is very grateful that she did.

Rebekah compiled these letters/essays after Mitzi died in November 2006. It was a way to help her cope with her immense grief, and she felt closer to her mother as she read and re-read the material. Rebekah and Mitzi always talked about compiling these letters into a book, but never quite got around to it. Mitzi was none too happy with her daughters coaxing her into the computer age, but we now know from these writings that she was glad she did. Reading these memories now made Rebekah wish she could ask her mother a million more questions, and she hopes that publishing these stories will keep her mothers memory and a way of life gone by alive for future generations.

This little book was compiled primarily as a legacy for Mitzis family and friends. If other readers find this material, and are encouraged to write down their familys stories and history, so much the better.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 23, 2007
• ISBN: 9781465322050

Mitzi Broome McKinney

Born in San Angelo, Texas, Mitzi was raised in San Angelo and on the family ranch in Broome, Texas. She married W.L. ‘Mac’ McKinney in 1945, and they had three children: Michael, Bradley, and Rebekah. She spent her life actively involved as an artist in the field of metal sculpture, and her beautiful work can be found in numerous churches, public buildings, and private collections. She loved God whole-heartedly and tried in her life and in her work to give testimony to that love.

Book preview

Copyright © 2007 by Mitzi Broome McKinney.

ISBN:          Softcover                                 978-1-4257-6986-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

CAST OF CHARACTERS

CHANGES

THE COMPUTER AND

THE LITTLE OLD LADY

NICKNAMES AND FROGLEGS

HIGH WATER

DANCING GEORGE

CYRUS LAFAYETTE BROOME

GEORGE STRANAHAN BROOME

CLAUDE A. BROOME

(FATHER)

BACK HOME

MOTHER AND DADDY

MRS. CLAUDE A. BROOME

(GRANDMOTHER)

SNEAKY CHICKENS

CALENDAR SQUARES

HOW BROOME, TEXAS, GOT ITS NAME

HIGH FINANCE AT THE MOVIES

SIMPLE TRUTH

THE RANCH HOUSE

A DAY ON THE CONCHO RIVER

MYRT

SAVE AS IDLE THOUGHTS

HIDEOUTS IN MY LIFE

THE CLOCK OF MY LIFE

LILY OF THE FIELD

(A Short Story)

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY

BOOK DESCRIPTION

DEDICATION

Dedicated to my mother, Mitzi Broome McKinney, with whom I shared a loving, spiritual relationship. We always talked about compiling these letters into a book, but never quite got around to it. She was none too happy with my coaxing her into the computer age, but now know from these writings that she was glad I did. Reading these memories now makes me wish I could ask her a million more questions. I miss her more than I ever thought possible, and only hope that publishing these stories will keep her memory alive for future generations.

—Rebekah McKinney-Reese

CAST OF CHARACTERS

MITZI BROOME MCKINNEY

Author of these stories and essays. Daughter of George S. Broome and Rebekah Jane Moody Broome

WALLACE L. (MAC) MCKINNEY

Mitzi’s husband

GEORGE STRANAHAN BROOME

Mitzi’s father

REBEKAH JANE MOODY BROOME

Mitzi’s mother

MERLE (MYRT) MOODY

Mitzi’s aunt and Jane Broome’s half-sister

ELISABETH BROOME (MRS. CLAUDE A. BROOME)

Mitzi’s grandmother

CLAUDE A. BROOME

Mitzi’s grandfather

CLAUDE BROOME

Mitzi’s brother

MARIAN BROOME KELTON THURMAN (MIMI)

Horace’s mom and Mitzi’s aunt

HORACE KELTON

Mitzi’s cousin and son of Marian Broome. These reminiscences were written as Letters to Horrie.

CYRUS LAFAYETTE B ROOME

Mitzi’s great uncle

HAROLD WESTBROOK (BROOKIE) BROOME, JR.

Mitzi’s cousin

JACKSON SADLER BROOME

Mitzi’s cousin

CHANGES

I look with longing at the path along the river. I want so badly to be down there, close to the water, looking into its green depths filled with moss and fish and water bugs. Intellectually, I know it doesn’t do any good to wish that things were like they used to be… my legs strong, my hands and arms able to grasp large tree limbs and move them out of the way, my back a tower of strength for the rest of my body. I know this but sometimes, like this morning, I just want to wallow in self-pity and wish and wish and wish!

Luckily those moments get farther and farther apart, and I’m able to say Thank You for the many years I enjoyed those gifts and Thank You for the wonder of the gift You’ve given me for the years (or months or days or minutes) still left to me. The gift of being able to sit and look out over the river from my birds-eye view from the third floor, of hearing the spill of water as it falls endlessly over the little man-made dam. I hear the birds speaking gently, or raucously, or in inspired song to one another. I can see the leaves move in the sweetness of the wind that stirs them. I can smell the water smells that rise from the river below, the wildflowers that thrive, unmown, until they spread their seeds on the ground.

All of these things are here for me, probably even intensified because I am forced to sit and be quiet enough to see and hear and smell them. This present time is a great gift You give me, and I don’t intend to spoil it by pouting over what I’ve lost.

In a way I feel even stronger than before… stronger and higher. I’ve risen above myself, I say to myself a thousand times a day. Sometimes I even have a mental picture of me hovering over what is happening, watching it unfold, knowing that I am a part of it but still removed from it. Detached. Attached. Sometimes I feel like I want to share this lovely feeling with someone, and then again that I want to hug it to myself. My mind is very happy with the place it finds itself at the moment, serene and knowing that the outcome of things does not depend on me but on God. Rather, the interaction between God and man. I’ve been able, finally, to let go and let God… the phrase I’d heard all my spiritual life but never really understood until the later years of my life.

Let go and let God. I could say it with conviction, thinking I was doing just that, but then I’d catch myself telling Him just how it should be, what He should do to make my desired outcome come true. Not letting go at all, but still trying to run the whole show myself. Fix everything. I could argue with the best that God meant for us to use our brains to solve problems, that we should do all we could do to take care of things that cropped up in our lives. God didn’t want a bunch of namby-pambys sitting on their duffs waiting for Him to do everything for us. He intended for us to get in there and come out fighting, doing what was right, telling others to do what was right… helping Him run the Universe! And that’s just what I did, and because I was on God’s side… I was always RIGHT.

I loved the active, physical life I led… digging in the soil planting things, dipping my feet in cool water before shoving off to swim, throwing rocks, walking miles in fresh clean air, wrestling with heavy sheets of metal while I turned them into works of art. I was drunk with the joy of being alive, doing wonderful things to celebrate the love I have for the One who created me. I was drunk with the joy of knowing I was one with everything He created, knowing I was an important cell in the Divine Body. When sad or painful things happened in my life, I was strengthened with the knowledge that God was helping me through the bad times, even then I was drunk with knowing that.

I thought I had reached the apogee of a life lived in partnership with God.

It took me a long time to acknowledge the changes that were taking place in my life. I thought the gradual loss of strength in my hands would go away if I rested them. Then they began to hurt, and I had surgery to correct carpal tunnel problems. Much better. After a period of rest I started using them again. Then it was my shoulder; same thing, I rested it and it was good again. Then my feet turned traitor and I therapied, rested, rehabbed them. When my back and hips broke down, I couldn’t ignore things any longer. I fought the words It’s your age and Arthritis until the day a cane became necessary to get to the places I wanted to go. That was when I knew the meaning of Let Go. I’d done what I could and look what happened… now it’s His turn.

The first thing He did was to bring a computer into my life via my daughter. I surely did not see the Lord’s hand in that until much later. Now I see that He must have been chuckling up His sleeve while He listened to me revile this thing, curse it when I couldn’t make it do what I wanted it to… but return to it over and over again because I was overcome with the desire to tell some of the family stories that I didn’t want to be lost. Slowly, writing the stories began to replace going to the studio to work with the metal… very slowly. Given my ’druthers, I would rather still be hammering and cutting and soldering, but the satisfaction I’m getting from writing fills the same creative hole I got from hammering, so I say Thank You for that.

I think writing is what has enabled me to ‘Rise Above It’. The very act of standing back and seeing the story, telling the story, is a passive one. I don’t mean that I don’t get all emotionally involved with what I’m writing about… I do. But I am able to be objective about it at the same time. I feel as if I am twice as large, twice as wide, twice as tall. My mind is what ranges physically now… covers huge areas in a single leap, moves mountains, and rises above worldly floods. This is not saying it well… not saying it the way I feel it. I have expanded at the same time I have shrunk. I think God has led me down a path of stillness after letting me run wild in His pastures. I think He has made my mind take over the activity my body used to handle. I think He saved the best for last, and I am deeply grateful for the wonder of living more fully than ever before.

I think that I will not think this is the last surprise He has in store for me… who knows what is next to come!!

THE COMPUTER AND

THE LITTLE OLD LADY

I don’t care what my daughter says… I am not ready for this! She threw me kicking and screaming into this new world, flattering me, saying You can do it, Mom. You’re going to love it! Well, I’ve got news for her… I can’t and I don’t! It makes my head hurt, my back hurt, my hands hurt! It makes me feel small and incompetent and stupid. It makes my mind go completely blank when the little blinking curser doesn’t go where I want it to. What did she tell me to do? The e-mail I’m trying to send my granddaughter keeps kicking back; what did she tell me about that? My long-distance bill is huge because I finally have to break down and call her, and she tells me again, and I do it, and it still doesn’t work!

The trouble-shooting gang at GTE all know me by my first name. Actually, that’s been the most fun in this painful procedure… getting to know those bright young men who must have all been born with a silver microchip in their mouths and a mouse as the favorite toy in the nursery. They know everything! The only problem is that they talk as fast as they think, and it’s hard for my ears to keep up. I have to slow them down once in awhile, so they can talk me through the problem we’re working on. But they are really, really nice about it. It’s just once in awhile I hear the deep sigh. I hope they get overtime for being so patient with Little Old Ladies like me.

After my husband died, all my extra cash went to my lawyer. All my not extra cash, too. But, hey, it was worth it… he did so much to make my life easier that it was cheap at any price. He did a lot of things for me that I could have done for myself, but at that particular time in my life, I DID NOT WANT TO. Now that that is ten years in the past, I don’t need him as often, and I was really beginning to